Wilson Mooney Eighteen at Last (20 page)

The door swung open and the same
nurse, Sharon, who’d brought us into that tiny, vacant room, waited
a moment before asking us to follow her.

Max helped his mother stand, kissed
her temple, then took hold of me. Camille grabbed her mother’s arm.
We followed behind Nancy and Camille. I watched their slow,
deliberate steps as they sauntered down the hall.

“
Doctor Sweeney told me
you would like to see Frank. Because of his delicate state, there’s
a chance he may already be in surgery,” Nurse Sharon said
matter-of-factly to Nancy.

Nobody said a word. Max squeezed my
hand and I responded by brushing my thumb across the back of his.
It was our silent conversation, trying to keep our feelings of
despair under control.

A haunting voice announced over the
speakers that were peppered methodically throughout the hospital,
“Code Blue, ER 203…Code Blue, ER 203.”

Sharon became rigid. A
nurse dressed in seafoam green scrubs jogged down to us. She spoke
breathlessly in coded medical terms—aortic
something-or-other
,
acute…hyper…cardio…ventricular fibrillation—words I couldn’t
understand, while Sharon shook her head. My eyes vacillated between
Sharon’s conversation and Nancy’s reaction; I knew something wasn’t
right. When Sharon turned to us her eyes said everything, and I
knew Frank was gone.

“
What is going on? What is
happening with my father?” Camille demanded.

Sharon looked at Camille, her eyes
glossy with the responsibility of telling us that the man who
helped create this beautiful family would not be coming home.
Nancy’s knees buckled and she fell back against Max. Camille
grabbed for her as Max lowered their mother to the ground, and I
stood, frozen in witness to the desolation of their
family.

Nurse Sharon shouted for help, and
within seconds, the staff had a wheelchair and two huge male nurses
to help lift Nancy.

“
Mom! Come on, Mom,” Max
spoke nose to nose with his mother.

“
Is she okay? Is she going
to be okay, Max?” Camille kept repeating. She couldn’t hold it
together. Max looked at me and nodded toward his sister; I wrapped
my arms around Camille and held her tight until she stopped asking
questions.

“
I am so sorry,” I
whispered through my tears and she finally understood. She clung to
me and sobbed. It was the longest forever I’d ever
experienced.

“
Mom, the nurse is going
to take you into one of their rooms. Just so you can catch your
breath.” Max enunciated each word, like a grownup speaking to a
child.

“
Maxi, I
can’t…”

“
I know, Mom, I know—” Max
repeated as he walked alongside her wheelchair. His voice tapered
off as he disappeared into a room.

Still clinging to Camille, I guided
her toward the same room Max had disappeared into with Nancy. I
didn’t know what else to do. It felt wrong for me to be there, but
I was caught in a nightmare that played one frame at a time—every
movement, every cry, every word relentlessly playing out despite
our refusal to believe any of it. What was the next step in this
horrendous situation?

Camille began to hyperventilate; she
struggled to catch her breath as she watched her family
crumble.

Max grabbed her by the forearms and
snapped her back into listening to him.

“
Camille, I need you to go
call Calvin and Dan. I need you to do that right away, please,” he
whispered in a firm voice.

She stared into his eyes, frozen in
the moment of realization that their world was collapsing. She
lowered her head as Max let go of her arms. Camille had the
unfortunate responsibility of telling Calvin there would never be
an opportunity to make things right with his dad. If mercy existed,
Camille wasn’t going to taste it.

“
Max—I,” Camille
slurred.

“
You have to,” Max prodded
before he pulled the door and held it open. As he waited for
Camille to make her way out into the hall, the muscles in his neck
flexed and his arms grew stone hard.

I could smell the agony of other
patients slithering in through the open door as nurses and doctors
scurried back and forth down the hall, hoping to gamble and win
their patients’ lives back.

“
Dad loved you, Camille—so
much; do this for him.” Max’s eyes swelled with tears.

Camille stumbled,
seemingly unsure of the way she was supposed to walk, before she
managed to widen her gait and walk out the door. Max pressed his
hand to her shoulder as she passed him, an unspoken
thank you
between
them.

The nurses were fussing over Nancy and
I could see she didn’t like the attention. “Maxi, don’t you dare
leave me here,” Nancy gasped through the murmuring and questions
from the nurses.

“
I’m right here, Mom,” Max
said as he let go of the door and went to her. I watched him scoop
up her tiny, pale hands and squat in front of her. “I sent Camille
out to call Calvin and Dan,” Max continued gently.

“
Is she going to call the
Vaughns too?” Nancy took a deep breath. In her attempt to keep from
crying, she curved her lips and rolled her eyes up to the ceiling.
Her chin wrinkled and crumpled in the struggle to keep from
bawling.

“
I’ll tell her to call
them,” I offered as I left the room without making any eye contact
with Max or Nancy.

I had to leave. The pressure of her
loss kept building in the back of my throat. Every word and action
between Max and his mother reminded me of the pain my grandpa and I
went through the day we lost my grandma. I didn’t want to be the
pebble that caused the house of cards to fall and I knew if I
stayed with her and Max, I would be the one to obliterate any
control they still had over their emotions. The moment I pulled
that door closed behind me, the tears roared to life and streamed
down my cheeks.

Frank was gone. Nancy and Camille
didn’t want to come home. But when the Vaughns showed up at the
hospital, they took them to their house. That left Max and me,
together—but alone. We drove back to his family’s cabin in silence.
The whine of the engine was the only constant I could rely on to
soothe the anguish that consumed me. There was nothing I could do
or say to heal Max. I couldn’t make it better or take away his
pain. Nothing could erase the excruciating fact that his father was
dead.

The car swayed in a lulling motion
down the long driveway to the Goldsteins’ darkened cabin. It felt
like ghosts with murky intentions lingered around the bushes and
trees. The beam of the headlights danced across the front windows,
casting a glimmer of hope that someone, anyone, would wake us from
this nightmare. I wanted to feel the relief of waking up. But of
course that wasn’t going to happen. I watched Max lift his burdened
arm up, and with his long finger, push the button on the garage
door opener; we were finally home. A feeling of reprieve washed
over my body when I heard the garage door moan shut and the
familiar garage fell silent. He sat for a moment. Pieces of him
were gone—lost, and left at the hospital. I reached over and
touched him. He seemed so rigid and worn out when he looked at
me.

“
You need to sleep,” I
said. He turned away, pushing his door open as he lifted himself
out of the car. I watched him return to a vacancy
nobody
wanted and his
motion was heartrending. I sat, stone cold and lost, while he came
around to my door. My mind turned and searched, working to find
what to say—what to do to help him through this. He pulled open my
door.
Damn it,
even hurting he can’t stop taking care of me.

I love him so
much
.

I wanted to take every last painful
experience from him and bury it deep in the sea under a massive
rock so it couldn’t float up and find him. I wanted to cling to his
skin and erase every memory of all the disappointment he felt
today. He wrapped his arm around my waist as I stood up; I could
feel his heat scorching me right above my hip as he slid his hand
underneath my shirt, pressing against my skin. He pushed his face
against my hair and his warm breath brushed my ear.

“
Thank you for being here
with me,” his voice cracked as he whispered.

“
You’re welcome,” I
answered.

Max pushed the door open and we
meandered into the kitchen. In silence we removed our shoes and
dropped them into the rattan basket Nancy intentionally set by the
door. Frank’s muddy work boots sat, lonely, on a folded newspaper,
left there to be cleaned later with the expectations he’d be
returning. Max didn’t notice, or maybe he didn’t want to. His hand
danced down my arm, ending at my fingers. Our hands locked together
and he dragged me through the dining room, past the great room, to
the stairs.

We stood at the base of the staircase
with the front door behind us, locking away the visions of Frank
lying on the cold, wet cement. Max turned and looked at the rippled
glass, clear enough to make out the black, open space just beyond
the earthy stone porch. He blinked and paused for a long moment
before he pulled me up the stairs.

He pushed open his bedroom door and my
heart dropped to my feet. The flowers still displayed their
beautiful colors in the room, the bright yellow envelope still
leaned against the clear glass vase, and the banner still hung
against the picture window. I’d forgotten it was my birthday. I
looked at the clock beaming red numbers—12:32. No, I was wrong. It
wasn’t my birthday anymore.

Max was so exhausted he fell onto the
unmade bed. The sheets were still twisted down at the foot of it,
and his pillows were scattered across the bed and on the
floor—evidence that we’d been here less than four hours ago, ready
to go all the way. I stood pressing my knees against the edge of
the bed. I wasn’t sure I wanted to pick up where we’d left off. How
could we return to the moment when Max and I were going to become
tethered to my first time?

I pushed back from the bed and went
over to my flowers, wanting to see the card Nancy had left for me.
I wanted to feel her happiness. I slid my fingers across my name
before I picked it up. She’d written in script with black ink. The
bed shifted behind me and I felt the floor vibrate. I waited to
feel Max push up against my back; he didn’t. I wanted him to press
his chin into my shoulder and slip his hands around my waist, I
wanted to feel him against me. But he stayed back, standing far
enough away to give me a private moment.

I pulled at the corner of the
envelope, making a jagged rip, and I couldn’t help but notice the
frayed yellow edges. They became prisoners to the thin, white,
wounded lines created by my desire to see that they loved me. I
looked up at Max as he stood carefully, almost lightly on his feet
waiting to see if what his mom had written was enough to bring me
to tears. He was waiting to make sure I was going to be
okay.

I pulled the card out and a cute,
fluffy elephant trumpeted the words ‘Happy Birthday’ from its dark
gray trunk. I opened it and inside it read, ‘…from a handful of
mixed nuts!’ I noticed they’d all signed it: Nancy, Frank, Camille,
and Max. I pressed my fingers to their words. I wanted to know what
emotions they’d been feeling when they thought of the touching
words they wrote before signing their names. Nancy, of course,
wrote a beautiful note wishing me the best day ever; Camille kept
her words short and to the point; Max just signed his
name.

Then I saw it—Frank’s name, written in
his handwriting. I pressed the card to my heart. Max didn’t wait to
give me a moment to hurt before he was next to me and pulling me
into his chest. I was so moved by their choice to accept me into
their family.

A massive, thick bubble
sat wedged against my vocal chords, but I held back my need to cry.
Max tightened his arms around me, the card pinned to my heart just
beneath my hands. I knew Max was hurting so much more than me, and
yet again he was making sure
I
was okay. I couldn’t let him worry about
me.

I could feel Max’s breathing become
shallow, his heart thumping faster, and I knew he was struggling to
stay strong for me. He pushed his face against my shoulder before
turning to press his lips to the space between my collar and the
bend of my neck. He took a deep breath before his hands pushed
harder against my back. I felt him ripple as he battled to catch
his breath, and knew he didn’t want me to know he was crying. Worn
from the emotional rollercoaster of the day, I pushed him slightly
toward the bed.

“
Honey, I think you should
try and get some sleep,” I told him as I pulled slightly away from
him. But he adjusted his hands and held me tighter.

“
I can’t let go. Please—I
don’t want to let go.” He struggled to say the words that admitted
he was broken.

“
You don’t have to,” I
whispered, trying to soak up his pain.

We stood in each other’s arms for a
good five minutes. I rocked back and forth, swaying my hips in a
hypnotic rhythm. Then I felt Max take the lead and continue the
motion until he loosened his grip to a relaxed pressure across my
back.